


The Best Planned Laids

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24770815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: There is one small interruption in Vaughn's seduction.
Relationships: CC-8826 | Neyo/CT-0292 | Vaughn
Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701715
Comments: 12
Kudos: 188





	The Best Planned Laids

Vaughn isn’t naturally this vocal.

He moans, gaudy, and hot blushes spread themselves across his cheeks, tower at his ears, chase themselves down his neck and chest. Neyo laughs a quiet judder of lips against his collarbone.

“Don’t push yourself,” he orders. He’s noticed, of course he’s noticed. Vaughn’s learned he can’t twitch a single muscle without Neyo noticing, without him cataloging it immediately to good or bad or neutral to repeat or dispense with or improve. Neyo is a man of detail and he’s made deep, lingering study of Vaughn’s body.

Vaughn’s learned more of hismself through Neyo’s hands on him than ever before.

Neyo’s teeth suss out another spot, high on his chest and just west of his arm. The quiet rasp of his end-of-day stubble prickles micrometers away from too-close to where Vaughn is ticklish and somehow, somehow the threat of it shoots electric heat straight through. His hands find Vaughn’s hips, find the backs of them and dig hard just above the crease at the tops of his thighs. Vaughn… melts and twitches and groans and pants, all at once in the tumble of sensation. It’s like he’s been electrocuted. He keens.

It’s high-pitched and ragged and _desperate_ , unfeigned but it sounds like it should be. Vaughn sounds like the track of a blue movie, he feels, and it’s awkward and almost unsexy. Almost.

Neyo’s eyes dart across the stretch of him, leading where his hands will follow. His thin lips curl in leonine satisfaction every moment he tugs a lingering shred of self-control through Vaughn’s fingers. He basks in the sounds he pulls, adores them, even if he hasn’t ever said as much.

Vaughn isn’t naturally vocal, and Neyo’s never once asked for otherwise. It isn’t a fair exchange, Vaughn thinks and rocks back into Neyo’s hold.

“Easy,” Neyo rumbles. He guides Vaughn down, thighs flush against his lap, before Vaughn’s even noticed the beginnings of strain on his legs. “You late for something?” He chuckles so quiet it’s near swallowed up by the wind slithering through the leaves outside their bedroom window.

Neyo’s known for his observation, but Vaughn didn’t get where he was by accident. He slips a single nail, so light it barely touches, across the very tip of a nipple and traces the spots of flush that ignite across Neyo’s chest.

Neyo groans in his throat and Vaughn can see the appeal.

“If I _let you_ , you’ll spend the night petting me until I fall asleep. And that will waste the whole dinner I made to seduce you.”

“Did you want to sl-”

Vaughn cuts him off with his lips, before he can say something silly. Observant but contrastingly a little dense, Vaughn thinks and nips kisses to his mouth. 

Clever hands wander up the backs of Vaughn’s legs, find handholds in the meat of his rear and haul him in breath-stealingly deep into the kiss. His knees slip on cool sheets; expensive because both of them are slowly doing away with self-denial. He loses balance but they've only kept a spare inch of space between, and the fall is more grind than impact. Their hips drag together and shudders of want pulse themselves unhindered out of Vaughn’s open mouth. A smug, satisfied purr quakes the mattress.

Vaughn and Neyo meet eyes in startled unison.

Neyo breaks first. “No,” he moans in dramatic fashion. He always gets louder, his movements more expansive when he’s embarrassed. He deflates into the pillow.

Enentee takes it as invitation to coil herself in between Neyo’s shoulder and ear and rumble like a combustion engine.

“You said you’d locked the door,” he, well, _whines_ as he pretends he’s putting up any sort of resistance to her efforts to wash his chin.

Vaughn sits back on his haunches. “I did,” he says around a grin he tries to stifle. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t. Neyo scrunches his nose at the sound of it and pointedly closes his eyes.

A branch scrapes at the window and Vaughn’s got the hint of an idea how she got in. It’s impressive. There’s at least four feet between the house and anything sturdy enough to bear the weight of the tum Enentee’s developed from all the snacks they take turns pretending not to notice the other slipping her.

Enentee finishes with Neyo’s chin and moves on to just below his ears.

Vaughn doesn’t laugh at that. He could count his restraint as personal growth, he decides and scritches lightly at her rump right above the tail. It earns him a distracted purr and a single lick, a tiny, begrudging bestowal. If Neyo had done it, she’d be presenting stomach and throat for scratches, all paws wrapped around his wrist. Vaughn gets a second’s acknowledgment and is dismissed immediately after in favor of Neyo’s cheek.

The lady plays favorites with no pretense at shame. Neyo suffers the indignity in horrified, humiliated silence.

“I think,” Vaughn says slowly, “we should maybe reconsider your relationship to this tooka.”

“She’s _not_ my tooka,” Neyo grumbles immediate and on cue, even as Enentee completes her wash ritual, pokes her head on the pillow next to Neyo’s ear and purrs herself to sleep. “She’s a nuisance.”

“She loves you,” Vaughn rejoins, if only to see man’s flush climb the rest of the way up his neck.

Neyo cracks open one eye to glare. “ _You’re_ a nuisance.”

He’s not wrong. Vaughn lets his eyes widen with angelic innocence and ever, _ever_ so barely rocks his hips. The startled groan is exquisite.

“ _Not in front of the cat_ ,” Neyo shrieks. His flush claims the last of his face and his ears glow red like heat lamps.

He doesn’t do well with embarrassment. No one does, really, but Neyo struggles more than most. It’s a weakness he knows, and he’s trained himself to never let his instinctive reaction escape. He swallows back sharp words as Vaughn watches, silences the cutting snide before it can form a thorny defense. Vaughn’s seen him treat his Valors the same way: he’ll try to douse his natural sarcasm, even if the words it leaves him with are terse and cool.

“Don’t,” he grunts, but his hands spasm on Vaughn’s hips, slip him forward. His groan is annoyance, but it’s self-directed. Vaughn doesn’t help: the backs of his knuckles drag slow, careful brushes down Neyo’s sternum and though the night is warm the flesh pebbles under his touch.

He’s put a lot of work into this evening, into dinner and lights and scents and sending WAC off on distractions. If they let it go to waste, Neyo will beat himself up even more than Vaughn’s own disappointment would warrant.

Neyo shifts subconsciously and muscle under Vaughn’s behind tense. He’s far from opposed, it feels.

Vaughn pretends the next little sweep of his hips is pure accident. “We should move to the couch.”

A second eye opens to join the glare, and it would be cutting if it wasn’t petulant. “We should get out of our bed, _leave_ our bed in the custody of the cat, tromp through the house to the living room so we can fuck on the couch.”

“Yes,” Vaughn answers placidly. “It’s either that or you pick up your sleeping tooka and put her out.”

“She’s _not_ my -” Enentee yawns, stretches paws in all directions and delicately rests two against Neyo’s arm. He twitches. Vaughn smiles, smug, and Neyo’s glare turns calculating. “You could-”

“ _I’_ _m_ not moving her,” Vaughn says with inarguable firmness.

Enentee’s purrs trail off and her breath deepens. Whistles a bit in her nose, from the last traces of a cold she caught that they spent a fun tenday medicating. Vaughn is not going to be the one to wake her. Neither, they’re both well aware, is Neyo. They have a stalemate, exacerbated by the fact that Neyo has a naked Vaughn perched on his lap and he’s still very interested in that.

They could put her out, but she’s going to cry. The mood is already clinging on tenterhooks. Vaughn stretches, just a bit just his shoulders pressing up, just enough to remind Neyo what’s on the line.

Neyo twitches, and his long blink smacks of defeat.

“We could move to the couch,” he mourns. Vaughn grants him a sympathetic peck on his nose.

“This is why I told you not to let her on the bed,” he points out and gamely ignores the shot of pure hypocrisy in the words. _He_ only lets her on the bed when he’s alone and it’s cold and he can stick his feet under her. Neyo’s never once caught him at it.

He slides from his lover’s lap, saunters down to snag the blanket they’d kicked off the bed earlier and slips a little sway in his hips as he goes.

Neyo grumbles little snippets of half-bitten off swears and follows.

Enentee rolls into the warm spot and mercifully doesn’t wake.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Man and Not His Tooka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101576) by [SailorSol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol)




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